


A New Beginning

by Batshit_Bogs



Series: Through the Mirror [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Angst, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Damian Wayne Needs Love, Good Parent Talia al Ghul, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Child, Past Talia al Ghul/Bruce Wayne, Protective Talia al Ghul, Reverse Robins, ah but twas a ruse! the child was not lost all along!, always. so much love. all the love, i think this is hurt/comfort?, no beta we die like robins, she just wants what's best for her kid :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28911909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batshit_Bogs/pseuds/Batshit_Bogs
Summary: There are three dates in Bruce’s life that he dreads the arrival of.The first is the anniversary of his parents death.The second is the date his heart was broken.The third is a birthday that will never be.-Bruce is introduced to someone he never thought he'd get to meet.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Talia al Ghul & Bruce Wayne, Talia al Ghul & Damian Wayne, Talia al Ghul/Bruce Wayne
Series: Through the Mirror [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937332
Comments: 29
Kudos: 185





	A New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I have so many other projects, but this one decided to swoop in out of left field and take up my brainspace until I wrote it out, so. Here it is
> 
> **CWs**  
>  _\- implied/referenced miscarriage_  
>  _\- implied child abuse_

There are three dates in Bruce’s life that he dreads the arrival of.

The first is the anniversary of his parents death.

The second is the date his heart was broken.

The third is a birthday that will never be. 

As he fights the Riddler and his henchmen, Bruce is acutely aware that today is the second. He knew it once he was coherent enough at breakfast to read the date on the newspaper, and the weight of that knowledge has laid heavy on his shoulders ever since. It dogs his steps as he walks Gotham's streets. Whispers in his ear as he sees that one of his employees brought their daughter in for work. Tugs at his cape as he pulls it on.

If he punches the Riddler harder than usual once he gets close enough, the reason is no one but Bruce’s to know. It doesn’t take long for the GCPD to apprehend the unconscious villain, and once he’s in custody, Bruce slips away. The sky is starting to lighten - patrol is finished for tonight.

In a way, Bruce wishes the night would last longer. If he goes home, he no longer has a distraction from what today is. All that awaits him is the cold silence of a home that shouldn’t be as empty as it is.

At least he’ll have some peace.

As soon as he steps out of the mobile and into the cave, Alfred, waiting by the parking dock, shatters his hopes of a quiet evening.

“Sir, a message has been left for you on the computer.”

Bruce sighs through his nose and nods wearily. He makes his way to the computer, pulling off his cowl as he does so, and slumps into the chair. In a few practiced clicks, the message is brought up on the monitor. 

It’s from Talia.

There’s a complicated set of feelings tangling into an unravelable knot in his chest, but that always happens when she’s involved. It takes a few minutes to un-encrypt the message, and Bruce’s apprehension only grows as it loads. It could be anything.

A threat.

A warning.

A plea.

A...request for a meeting?

Bruce leans his elbows on the computer desk and steeples his fingers, frowning. Both at the pet name  _ Beloved,  _ and at the fact that Talia wants to meet him at a discreet apartment in the Diamond District. She’s not specifying  _ why  _ she wants to meet, just that it’s extremely important and somewhat time sensitive.

They haven’t spoken properly in years. The only time they’ve seen each other in the last decade have been passing moments in battle or travel, and those few seconds were always stilted. Even fewer words have been shared between them.

It wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t anyone’s fault, Bruce  knows . But the loss they share isn’t the kind that brings people together. It’s the kind that opens an uncrossable chasm between them. The loss is too deep, too unfathomable, to attempt to stay with a constant reminder of it. That constant reminder being each other.

The knot in Bruce’s stomach worsens as he realizes that this meeting might be connected to today’s date.

It’s been an exact decade since their last real meeting.

Since the news.

Since he was eighteen and Talia shattered his heart with four simple words.

Bruce closes his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose. At least she’s asking to see him on this date, instead of the next one in seven months. If she had contacted him on the latter, he might have gone just to yell at her. Small mercies, he supposes.

The grief is still raw in his chest.

Whatever Talia wants, it can’t be good. Maybe she’ll beg him to give in to Ra’s and rejoin the League, using what happened against him. That’s what he’s expecting, at least. 

“Master Bruce?”

Bruce swipes under his eyes and straightens, saying, “Alfred, I thought you went upstairs.”

“I don’t mind waiting a moment,” Alfred murmurs. His gaze shifts to the monitor and his moustache twitches downwards. “Is that from the Lady Talia?”

“She wants to meet me.”

“Will you?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to, my dear boy. Whatever she could have to say, especially today...well, it can’t be anything pleasant.”

Bruce heaves a sigh and pulls his cowl back on. “It might be a warning. I should go to make sure.”

Alfred looks like he wants to protest, but he simply says, “Very well, sir.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

As he climbs into the mobile, Bruce feels his shoulders pressed down by an invisible weight. All he wants is to lock himself in his bedroom, close the blackout curtains, and hide from the world within the safety of his bed. He wants to be able to mourn in peace.

The rumble of the car around him isn’t a comfort tonight. It doesn’t make him feel strong, or invincible, or something more than what he is. It just reminds him of a life he almost had - one free from this agony, and this existence as a figure of Gotham’s pain.

It’s not long before he’s pulling into an alley a few blocks away from the address Talia sent him. For a moment he considers changing into civilian clothes, but if this is a trap, he’d rather come prepared. Though with Talia, physical armor is rarely what he needs.

Bruce notes that the chosen building is one of the taller ones in Gotham as he approaches it. He has a feeling that Talia is waiting at the top floor, so he grapples to the roof and enters the building via the roof access stairwell. The air inside isn’t much warmer than the chilly outside air, and Bruce huffs as he tugs his cape over his shoulders. He’s been meaning to make the suit warmer. 

The stark white walls and steps make his eyes ache, and does nothing to soothe the apprehension growing in his chest. Each thud of his boots against concrete echoes in the emptiness. His ears are open for any sign of an ambush. Something feels off about this building in a way he can’t describe, and it's setting him on edge. 

The first door he comes across opens to a dim, carpeted hallway. The walls are decorated in fading filigree wallpaper, and the only light sources are sconces with fake candles in them. It’s tacky, and the well worn carpet speaks of past occupants, though the cobwebs on the sconces tell him this floor hasn’t been traversed in quite some time. 

There are multiple dark wood doors lining this section of the hallway, but only one catches his attention. The one closest to him has been left slightly ajar - a clear invitation.

Bruce squares his shoulders, steels his heart, and marches towards it. 

The bottom of the door swishes against the carpet as he pushes it the rest of the way open. The room waiting for him is just as dim as the hallway, and the warm reds encasing everything are easy on his eyes. There’s a half-moon couch in the center of the carpet, and in front of it lays a glass coffee table devoid of clutter. The room is also devoid of windows, which makes the back of his mind whisper _ambush_.

Talia is standing by one of the cabinets against the far wall, and the sight of her makes the knot in Bruce’s chest loosen and tighten simultaneously. Even after all of these years, the mere sight of her brings a mess of complicated emotions back to the surface. He isn’t sure how he feels about her anymore. 

He feels loss. Longing. Anger. Guilt. So much more.

The door closes behind Bruce with a soft  _ click.  _ Talia whirls around at the sound, and relaxes when she sees it’s just him.

“Beloved,” she greets warmly.

“Talia,” Bruce replies stiffly.

The air between them is less than comfortable, and charged in the worst way. Somehow, it makes this easier to manage - Bruce can pretend he isn’t yearning to cross the room and hold the woman he used to love so deeply. To take some comfort in the one person that shares his grief.

“You wanted to see me,” Bruce continues.. “Here I am. What do you want?”

Talia’s hopeful expression falls, and she gestures at the couch. “I wish to speak with you.”

Bruce narrows his eyes.

“I promise, this isn’t a trick. Nor is it a threat, or a warning. Please, sit.”

This whole situation is sketchy, and Bruce doesn’t trust it one bit, but he pulls the cowl back and sits anyway. The cushions are hard from disuse, and he’s glad he can’t feel the velvet through the kevlar. It’s not his favorite texture. It brings back too many memories of velvet curtains and crib bedding. 

The couch dips slightly as Talia sits several cushions away. The distance is only a couple of feet, but it feels like oceans are between them. Bruce leans forward with his elbows on his knees and sighs.

“Have you been doing well?” Talia asks.

“Just tell me what you need to say, Talia,” Bruce says instead of answering. 

“I…” she hesitates. “It is a...delicate subject.”

“Why tonight, of all nights?”

Something deeply pained flashes through her green eyes. “It is pertinent to what I need to say.”

“I’m not - I can’t.” Bruce presses the back of his hand to his mouth for a moment. “I’m not talking about this.”

“Ten years ago, on this day -”

“Talia,” Bruce warns.

“- I told you that I lost our child.”

The knot in Bruce’s chest constricts painfully around his heart, and he clenches his hands into fists.

He knows that. He fucking  _ knows  _ that. 

It haunts his every waking hour. Every moment he spends is one knowing that there could have been a kid,  _ his  _ kid, by his side. It’s a heavy, physical pain whenever Clark speaks too casually about his son, as if he isn’t aware of just how lucky he and Lois are. How Bruce would give anything to have what they do.

Bruce and Talia were only eighteen when they found out they were going to have a baby, and yet they had been ready. Where Bruce thought he’d have been terrified, he had only felt  _ excitement.  _ He was going to be a dad. For the first time since his parents died, he felt true hope for the future, and his soul was  _ light _ . Whomever the child would have been, he was ready to meet them. He was prepared to sacrifice anything for a life with them.

Then Talia came to him two months into the pregnancy, and told him that she lost the baby. She told him while he was hanging an animal mobile over the crib for their future kid, and he still remembers the sound of it crashing to the floor. That moment has haunted his nightmares ever since.

It hurt worse than his parent’s death. It still does.

Talia takes a deep breath, and says, “I lied.”

No. Bruce can’t do this.

He stands abruptly and heads for the door with a sharp snap of, “I’ve had enough of your mind games, Talia.”

“I need your help,” she calls after him.

Well, she has a pretty shit way of asking for it. The tiniest flicker of hope in Bruce lasted for less than a second before he furiously stamped it out. It’s a lie. He won’t help her when she’s willing to use the past against him like this.

_ “He  _ needs your help.”

Bruce’s gloved hand freezes on the doorknob.

_ He.  _ She said  _ he. _

There's no way...there's no possible way...but the way she said 'he' says otherwise.

“Our son,” Talia says quickly, desperately, sensing Bruce’s hesitation. “He needs you, my love.”

Bruce takes a deep, steadying breath, and mutters just loud enough for her to hear, “If you’re lying…”

“I’m not. Please, sit back down, I can explain everything.”

If this is just an elaborate trick -

If she’s lying about their kid being alive, about him simply existing -

Bruce will break.

Despite the fear tugging at him to leave, there’s a tiny ember of hope that, this time, he’s not putting out. It gives him the bravery to let go of the knob and walk back to the couch. Talia sits back down, but Bruce doesn’t follow suit.

“Explain,” he growls, fighting to keep his voice level against the hope, fear, and building anger. “Explain to me why you lied, why you let me think you had lost our kid for a  _ decade.” _

“I never wanted to lie to you,” Talia says, her voice thick with emotion. “I wanted to raise our son together, more than anything.”

“Then why?” Bruce’s voice breaks on the second word. 

“I had to - for all of our safety.”

Bruce scoffs and crosses his arms. 

“Beloved, I swear, if I had any other choice, I would have taken it,” Talia pleads. “If I hadn’t told you that I lost our child, you would have stayed with the League. Ra’s would have corrupted you, and he would have dragged you into the dark with him.”

“I’m already in the dark,” Bruce mutters.

“No. You are in shadow, not darkness. You barely escaped my father’s grasp as it is - I had to tell him that you would have made his grandson soft in order to convince him to let you leave.”

“Then why didn’t you let me take our s - our…” He can’t say it.

Talia’s eyes harden into furious gemstones, though Bruce can tell that anger isn’t directed at him.

“Ra’s threatened to kill both you and our son,” she snarls. “He gave me three choices. You stay, and submit to his will, or I tell you I lost the baby and push you out of our lives. The last option was to lose you both.”

“Why now?” Bruce's voice wavers with tears threatening to fall. The embers of hope within him are catching into a raging inferno of conviction. “After all of these years, why are you only telling me now?”

Talia opens her mouth, hesitates, and closes it. Her eyes flit nervously around the room, and her words seem oddly stiff and practiced as she says, “I am delivering my son to you to finish his training. As the Batman, you can perfect his skill and craft him into the perfect heir.”

The fearful glint in her gaze says it's a fake reason. Bruce scowls and glances around the room.

_ ‘Is the room bugged?’  _ he mouths.

Talia grimaces and replies, ‘ _ I did not finish searching.’ _

Bruce nods and makes his way around the perimeter of the room, searching for any possible listening devices. Talia takes the other side of the room. It takes them too long, in Bruce’s opinion, to search the whole room. In the end they don’t find any bugs, save for the harvestman behind the liquor cabinet.

“We’re clear,” Bruce says. A tension he hadn’t noticed in Talia’s shoulders bleeds away at his words.

“You need to save him,” she all but whispers.  _ Begs _ . “I’ve only just managed to convince Ra’s to give him to you under the pretense of perfecting his training. What they’ve done to him...I cannot allow it to go on for any longer.”

A protectiveness flares in Bruce so strongly that it almost scares him. He closes his hands into fists and growls, “What did they do to our son, Talia?”

“The League is not kind to children.” Talia briefly closes her eyes. “I tried to get him to Gotham, once before. I...I tried to tell you.”

The anger in Bruce drains so suddenly that it leaves him feeling slightly nauseous. She can’t mean - she does.

“Germany,” he breathes.

It was their first meeting since he had left Talia. They happened to be in the same place, fighting the same foe, and Talia had tried to talk to him after they had taken their mutual enemy down. But the grief had been too raw, too recent, and he wouldn’t hear a single word. He dismissed her.

“Yes,” Talia confirms. “I’m sorry.”

Bruce stumbles back a step and roughly cards a hand through his hair. To think he would have had his son with him years ago, if he had only listened. Then he could have saved him from the horrors he’s surely seen in the League.

“It’s not your fault, my love,” Talia says, her voice far too gentle for what he's done. “You couldn’t have known, and it was too soon.” She sighs. “After that, I tried to take matters into my own hands, and I tried to escape with him.”

It’s all too easy to imagine - Talia, barely twenty, sneaking out of the League’s main compound with a baby swathed to her chest. Trying to keep him quiet as she tried to get him somewhere safe, desperate to give him a better life. Dodging assassins and fearing for both of their lives.

“Ra’s caught us when we were nearly free.” Talia slowly shakes her head. “I have rarely been allowed to see our son since. I only see him in passing, or for important events, or...or for punishment.”

Bruce is going to rip Ra’s Al-Ghul limb from limb. He knows with firsthand experience how harsh the League’s training is, and that they don’t soften it for children. And if their son has been separated from his  _ mother  _ for the vast majority of it...Bruce can’t even imagine the damage.  _ He  _ could barely handle the training, and he was an  _ adult _ . 

“You will need to be patient with him,” Talia continues. “He has been forced to do a great many things, and...he would not have come with me to meet you if he knew my true intentions. Ra’s has had him deeply conditioned.”

“That doesn’t matter to me,” Bruce says, and finds that he believes it.

Talia’s lips quirk in a sad smile as she takes one of his hands. “I’m trusting you with him. He needs your patience, your understanding, your love,  _ everything.” _

“Anything for him.”

It’s finally sinking in. 

Bruce’s child is alive.

Bruce has a  _ son. _

“Oh, Beloved,” Talia murmurs. Her free hand comes up to brush away the tears spilling unchecked from Bruce’s eyes. 

“Ten years,” he chokes out. “I grieved him for  _ ten years.” _

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. A few tears of her own are falling. “I never wanted this for any of us.”

Bruce closes his eyes and leans into the palm cupping his face. So many years of sitting alone in the dark, wishing his dead child happy birthdays. Years of knowing exactly which milestones his kid should have been reaching, of joys they both would never experience.

Bruce knows he’s already missed so much. His son - his  _ son  _ \- is ten years old now, and too much time has been lost to fix. He doesn’t want to lose another second.

“How soon can I see him?” Bruce dares to ask once he feels like he’s not crumbling apart.

“How soon would you like to?” Talia asks.

“As quickly as possible.”

“Good - he is in the room across from this one.”

“He’s in the building?”

Talia smoothes her thumb over his cheekbone. “As we speak.”

Bruce’s heart stutters in his chest. When he had entered the building, something had felt off - now, he’s wondering if he could somehow sense his kid’s presence. He turns to stare at the door, acutely aware that only two lay between him and his son.

_ His  _ son.

Bruce will never tire of those two words.

And he’s never been this scared in his life. 

“Come,” Talia says gently as she walks past him to the door. She opens that first barrier, and yet Bruce still hesitates.

When he walked into this building not thirty minutes ago, he felt as if he could barely breathe around the knot of grief. Now, he still can’t breathe, but this time it’s from anticipation and overwhelming hope. 

As soon as that second door opens, Bruce will be a father. He’ll meet the child he thought he’d never see. 

“Beloved?” Talia prompts.

Bruce wipes his eyes clear of any lingering tears, gives her a small smile, and walks out of the door. The second one stands tall - a bridge. A transition to a new stage in his life, and hopefully a brighter one.

Without any preamble, Talia opens that second door.

Bruce’s breath hitches.

There’s a young boy waiting expectantly in the middle of the empty room. Intelligent, calculating,  _ beautiful  _ green eyes are already narrowing at Bruce.

He looks like Talia.

“Damian, my heart,” Talia greets, approaching him.

“Damian,” Bruce echoes under his breath, both in awe and just because he  _ can.  _

His son’s name is Damian.  _ Damian _ .

It’s one of the names Bruce had proposed to Talia, and out of the list for potential boy names, it had been his favorite. 

Now, seeing the name given form, Bruce knows that it was the perfect choice.

Talia stops a step behind their son. “This is your father.”

Damian tilts his head, still scanning Bruce critically. There’s something...off about him, Bruce notes. He’s holding himself too stiffly, and his posture is too perfect. There’s a militaristic, disinterested glaze over his eyes, concealing any emotion he might be feeling.

He doesn’t look like a ten year old kid.

He looks like a soldier.

It breaks Bruce’s heart a little more, and intensifies his desire to protect this boy. It’s already clear that the League has done a number on him, and he shoves away a flare of anger directed at Talia. She did her best with what she was given - he can’t blame her for what Ra’s has done.

“Father,” Damian says contemplatively, stepping closer, but not quite within reach. The sound of his voice (so young, so perfect) makes Bruce’s heart  _ ache _ . Damian arches a notched eyebrow. “I imagined you taller.”

Bruce almost lets the semi-hysterical laugh that bubbles up in his throat escape him. Those are the first words he hears his son speak, and they’re a borderline insult. He already loves this kid so damn much.

“Damian,” he responds, letting the affection he feels bleed into his tone. “You’re just how I imagined you.”

Damian blinks at that, and his brow furrows. The tiny scowl is utterly adorable, and Bruce is overwhelmed by a sudden desire to just...hold this small boy.  _ His  _ small boy. 

Bruce takes a half step forward to do just that, and the desire drains as quickly as it arrived as Damian jerks back, his hand going for the hilt of his sword. Bruce hadn’t even noticed the sheath strapped to his back. Behind Damian, Talia’s fond expression saddens, and she shakes her head slowly at Bruce.

There’s obvious mistrust in Damian’s eyes - and fear.

What did he think Bruce was going to do? Hurt him?

Bruce carefully steps back to where he had been, and, telegraphing his movements, crouches. He offers his son -  _ his  _ son,  _ his  _ \- a soft smile. Damian is scowling again, like he doesn’t understand why Bruce is making an obvious show of being non-threatening. 

“Mother says I am to live with you,” Damian says.

Bruce is fairly certain he’ll never get tired of hearing his voice. It’s a miracle that it’s there at all.

“If you’d like to,” Bruce replies, "then I'd be happy to have you."

Something flickers in Damian’s gaze, and it’s almost hopeful. It’s uncertain, too, like he desperately wants to go with Bruce, but isn’t sure if he’s allowed. He casts a glance over his shoulder at his mother.

“Go with him, Damian,” Talia gently prompts.

Damian nods sharply and shifts his gaze back to Bruce. “Very well. I will come with you.”

The way he speaks is worrying, too, but Bruce doesn’t want to look too deeply into it right now.He just wants to keep basking in the fact that his baby is  _ alive _ . Breathing, right in front of him.

Bruce slowly rises to his feet and faces Talia. Before he can go over and embrace her for the first time in years, she folds her hands in front of her and turns her smile on Damian. It’s a melancholy quirk of her lips more than a smile, really. Bruce wonders how long it will be until he and Damian will see her again.

“Be safe,  _ qalbi, _ ” Talia murmurs. 

Damian blinks slowly at her. “I will not dishonor the League, Mother.”

The same sadness from before passes over her features like a cloud over the sun. She shifts her gaze back to Bruce, and the simple glance contains a thousand words.

_ Take care of him. _

_ Protect him. _

_ Save him. _

Bruce hopes that she knows he will. He’d do anything for Damian, and he’ll never let Ra’s get his hands on their boy ever again. 

He resists the urge to ruffle Damian’s hair as he stalks past, his adorable little head held high.

“Come, Father,” Damian says as he enters the hallway, “I wish to see my new living arrangements.”

Bruce casts an amused glance at the door, then lets his gaze linger on Talia. Just one more look. One more exchange.

“Goodbye, Beloved,” Talia says. “Please...don’t fail him.”

“I won’t,” Bruce says, and for the first time tonight, his voice is steady.

Even if it means the end of all he’s worked for, Bruce won’t fail his son. He can tell that it will be a long, arduous journey, but if Bruce can undo the damage that the League has done to Damian, it will all be worth it. No matter how long it takes, or how much blood, sweat, and tears it needs, Bruce will do it.

“Father,” Damian calls, and the sound of his kid impatiently calling for him brings a smile back to Bruce’s lips. “Are we leaving, or shall I get comfortable?”

“I’m coming, Damian,” Bruce replies. 

One last nod to Talia. She smiles back at him.

Then Bruce turns and leaves, and as he matches pace with his small, young,  _ incredible  _ son, he can’t help but think…

_ I can’t wait to introduce him to Alfred. _

**Author's Note:**

> Bruce: i'll never let Ra's get his hands on my son ever again!
> 
> Me, already writing: bitch bet
> 
> I might add more to this? I have a little idea for some Clark and Bruce being best friends and talking about Damian. If I ever write that, I'll tack on a chapter. 
> 
> Ty for reading this slightly manically-written jumble of letters, leave a comment if you'd like. They fuel my motivation
> 
> Share paninis with me @ [Batshit-Birds](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/batshit-birds) on Tumblr


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